


A Golden Age

by paladinquen (postmodern_robot)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Multi, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodern_robot/pseuds/paladinquen
Summary: A ghost ship is targeting the Kirkland Company mercantile fleet and Arthur Kirkland sends his apprentice, Matthew to investigate. An old blood feud, family secrets and the bloody world of business threatens to swallow Matthew and all that he loves whole.A 17th century historical NedCan AU, including a pirate/ghost ship (because why not?). Also, Canada is a pseudo…17th century secret agent for a shipping company…WARNING: Though I’ve tried to keep it light, there are instances of period-based prejudices, homophobia, swearing and violence.





	1. Origins

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic that is unfinished - I started writing it last year and stopped because I didn't think I was writing the characters well later on. I'm posting the chapters I'm more satisfied with here and if I come back to this work it would probably be rewritten from these chapters onwards.

_Somewhere - 1641_

All the wealth of the world flowed into the ports of her country - spices from the farthest east, gold from the southernmost point, weapons, exotic foods and most importantly, people - the most brilliant people the world had to offer, regardless of faith or creed.

Yet, she had nothing.

They, she corrected herself, looking at the sleeping forms of her little sisters. They had nothing. At least just a few hours ago they had a mother. A year ago, they had a father. Once they had wealth, a home. Now, looking around her at the alien jungle, the remnants of their ship washing up on the shore, and feeling the wet sand under the hands; she knew that their names had no meaning now, not in this place.

Anneke looked at her sisters in the dark and dried her tears with resolve. She sat with her back straighter and squared her shoulders.

‘Don’t be a fool, you are fourteen, almost a woman grown, and they, nine and six. As far as they are concerned, you must be mother, father…no, more. You will be more. They need you now, more than ever before.’ She clenched her hand into a fist. ‘You will not fail them.’

She thought about the man responsible for this, her father’s business rival and the trade war that destroyed every happiness she once had.

‘And God help me, or the Devil for all I care. I will destroy him.’

 

* * *

 

_S_ _ainte-Marie among the Huron, New France - 1642_

Matthieu was stalking the squirrel when they found him. He wasn’t going to eat it, if he wanted to, he would have just set a trap - a much more efficient use of his time. At the moment he was just practising. He hadn’t needed to hunt or find his own food since they took him to the Mission of Sainte-Marie among the Huron, but he didn’t want to forget his skills either. It was a matter of living! How could he grow up to be a man if he couldn’t even take care of himself? Even his father had learned a little, or so they had said. Matthieu’s father was a foreigner and beaver trapper, and he left nothing behind for his son except a name from his country and a physical legacy against the odds - Matthieu had fine and curly hair of the lightest brown, which was almost corn-coloured in the sun, and pale skin that he would have gladly lived without as it burned too easily under the sun. But Matthieu hardly thought about his father because it didn’t matter as much among his people. He was his mother’s son, so he was a son of the People of the Bear, founders of the Wendat nation.  

Was. He felt that there had to be remnants of the People of the Bear somewhere, but as far as he knew, there was nothing left of his home now as he knew it, his mother, grandmother, aunts and older uncles, all dead. The friends who accepted him, the others who teased him, taken into the tribes of the Haudenosaunee in place of those who had perished from the diseases brought over by his father’s people. Matthieu had vague memories of the tears and the sick in the longhouses - the sight of angry red spots or painful boils consuming the body until the person died. The Haudenosaunee must have lost too many as well.

Matthieu knew that war parties took children and young men as replacements for lost loved ones. But with his mother dead, he wasn’t sure if they would take him, with his odd hair, skin and eyes, so he ran and hid. The priests found him in the forest after days of surviving on his own. Matthieu’s original plan had been to go further West, to find the other members of his nation, and hope that they would take him in. That was impossible the moment the priests saw the color of his skin and hair - too similar to theirs to not keep him and attempt to turn him into them. They had gasped at the sight of him in beaver fur, cringed at the sound of the language coming out of his mouth - too ‘savage’ they said, and not proper at all for a child of Europe. Matthieu still believed that they were jealous that he was more his mother’s than his father’s, and what gave them the right to judge? But while his people traced family through the mother, it appeared that across the water, the father was more important. ‘You are a child of New France,’ they had said, ‘And by God’s Grace we will save your soul!’ 

It had angered him at first, his powerlessness to escape them, to lack security without the stone walls of the missionary, stuck in prayers or lectures, always watched, and at first, never allowed to leave. Finally, Matthieu realized that he was not going anywhere, not with his people so weakened and he so young. Besides, he was made of two halves - perhaps he should at least try to know his father’s people as well, they were just as much a part of him…and even if he had found the other people, of the Deer, the Bog or the Cord Makers, would they believe his claim without his mother to vouch for him?

“Matthieu! Is it really so terrible inside?” Father Pierre stumbled over. Ever so earnest and hardworking, was Father Pierre, who seemed to genuinely care about him. Matthieu was not enamoured with how the man called his people savages, even when he grudgingly respected them, but the Father was truly dedicated to his God, going as far as to learn Wendat from Matthiew and learn some of the songs to be better able to communicate and preach. “There is a man here to see you.”

Matthieu had been looking at the squirrel scampering away, up to that point. “Why would anyone come to see me?” He asked in a soft voice - he had learned to make the smallest sounds when he was in the forest, an old habit further developed from younger days to avoid those who were cruel to him.  

Father Pierre picked him up from where he lay and dusted him off. “An English trader, God help us.” He glanced heavenward. “But he knows your father and…” He looked at Matthieu’s face curiously.

“And?”

But Father Pierre sighed. “You must see for yourself. Come along.”

Wanting an answer to this mystery, Matthieu followed without fuss back to the wooden mission. An English trader who knew his father? Had his father been English and not French as the priests had assumed? How had an Englishman managed to convince the brothers to let him see Matthieu?

When he entered the room he saw a hint as to why. He didn’t look at the Englishman who had come for him, but at the boy around Matthieu’s own age, by the man’s side. He looked just like him! Not exactly, there were small differences, but Matthieu knew the shape of his own face, the curve of his eyes, his coloring. The other boy stared at him with curiosity, thrumming with barely concealed energy.

“Ah, thank you Father Pierre.” The Englishman’s accent in his French was strange, but at least he was understandable. “You must be Matthieu. You may call me Mr. Kirkland.”

Matthieu looked at the lean man with angry dark eyebrows and eyes the same color as the fresh green of Spring. “Hello Mr. Kirkland.” 

Mr. Kirkland frowned. “Speak up boy. I can barely hear you.” The other boy failed to hide his amusement.

“Hello Mr. Kirkland.”

Kirkland sighed, looking heavenward, then looked at the two boys. “Are you able to speak any English Matthieu?”

Matthieu shook his head. “No, but I know Wendat, I can understand the languages of some other nations too, and French of course…Mr. Kirkland.”

That displeased the man, and Matthieu was just a little afraid of how those green eyes narrowed, but held his ground. Finally Mr. Kirkland sighed, looking at the two boys, a cast of sadness came over this features. “Right. Just this once then. Fathers, please, could you give us some personal time? I wish to speak to these boys about their father.”

Father Pierre squeezed Matthieu’s shoulder as they left. As the warmth from his hand faded from Matthieu’s shoulder, he felt a familiar feeling of loss growing within him, the same that had settled on him when was nine and hiding in the forest. Now he was twelve and he knew that everything familiar would be taken away again. Mr. Kirkland turned to the boy standing next to him and said something in gentle tones in words that Matthieu did not know. However, he didn’t need to speak English to catch the tone of warning that colored the end of that last sentence.

The boy who looked like him didn’t seem to care, because the next thing Matthieu knew, the boy simply exploded, speaking to him in Wendat (albeit with a French accent), to Matthieu’s astonishment.

“HI! I’M ALFRED! WE’RE BROTHERS!”

Matthieu was too shocked to clamp his hands over his ears.

“ISN’T ARTHUR FUNNY? HE TRIES TO BE ALL STIFF AS A ROCK BUT HE’S NOT! WHERE ARE YOU FROM? DID YOU EVER MEET FATHER? HE COOKED THE BEST FOOD! YOU MUST REMEMBER THAT! OH, BUT DON’T TELL ARTHUR I SAID THAT!”

Matthieu could only stare as his…brother…bounced around him in circles, running around him while he asked him questions he never let Matthieu answer. He was so happy and carefree, and so obviously overjoyed to meet him and…his own brother? He had a brother?! Matthieu looked at Alfred in astonishment. All the loneliness growing up, everything he had lost, the times when he was left alone and wished that there would be someone like him. Though Matthieu still felt a little sad, he felt a surge of warmth grow in him too, simply because he had a brother. Maybe father had stayed with Alfred and not him, maybe Alfred was too loud, and maybe having a brother meant giving up everything he had ever known but it didn’t matter at this moment because Matthieu wasn’t truly alone. As much as he wanted his brother to just be quiet and stop yelling and bouncing, he already loved him.

When Alfred had calmed down (grew bored), Mr. Kirkland sat them both down. Alfred as it turned out, also understood French, which made sense, as he had apparently spent time being raised with their father, which was also how he had learned Wendat. Matthew had the feeling that he and Alfred did not otherwise share a nation.

“You will learn English. I have inherited a mess of a business and it is based in England. I already have enough on my hands and I will not be thrown in as a traitor or conspirator to the French because of that frog, so if anyone asks, you are my nephews. Remember this! It is important! I have enough brothers and they have enough of a reputation that this will be believable. After today, your names will be Alfred and Matthew Kirkland, and you will be coming with me. Matthew, it will be a better life than what these Jesuits can give you here, out in the middle of nowhere. I allowed Alfred to speak to you in your mother’s language today to communicate with you, but from here on out, it will just be English, for the both of you.” At this Alfred went strangely quiet. “I will civilize you both if it is the last thing that I do. Your father…”

Matthieu leaned forward, eager to hear more about his father. But Arthur, or Mr. Kirkland, it seemed, was unable to continue talking about their father. He looked broken suddenly, regretful, before composing himself. “One day I will tell you about your father. All you must know now is that I owe that frog a debt and I will repay it. Our ship leaves in a few days’ time, so Matthew, pack your things, whatever they are, and say your farewells.”

Matthieu didn’t like how powerless he was and couldn’t say what made him obey, perhaps just the sense of inevitability. He did not have much, a few clothes, some exercise books…a knock on the door distracted him from deciding if he really needed to bring even these few things. Matthieu turned to see a rather sad looking Father Pierre smiling at him.

“I suppose you will be leaving us then, Matthieu.”

Matthieu couldn’t deny anything, so he kept silent.

Father Pierre closed the door and revealed a bundle in his arms. “I know you do not have much, and we have done our best to make a little Frenchman out of you but…it does not feel right for you to leave without this.”

Curious, Matthieu took the bundle and unwrapped it to find the beaver fur tunic and trousers he had worn when the priests found him, complete with necklaces and beads. He looked up in  surprise. “I thought these were thrown out.”

Father Pierre sat on the bed and shrugged. “God forgive me, I lied. I meant to throw them out, but it did not feel right. Now that I know you will be leaving us, I felt you should have what remains of your home.” After a pregnant pause he added. “Matthieu, Europe is a very different world from here. You will scarce recognize it, but perhaps you will be able to find a place for yourself. I do not believe that you will ever forget where you came from, but just as we are but a tiny piece of France in a vast land, where you go, you will be a tiny piece of of the Wendat, in a wider world. This is a world that has harnessed the sea to service petty, and at times, evil needs. It is easy for one’s soul to be swept away.”

Matthieu shook his head. “I do not understand how that is possible Father.”

Father Pierre shrugged. “I suppose it is something that you must see to understand. But, it’s just a little harder to lose your soul when you can remember exactly where you came from. That way, even when you get lost, you can find your way back. I hope your clothes and your early memories will help you. I also took the liberty of purchasing this for you from the Englishman’s wares…”

Matthieu took the second mysterious bundle from Father Pierre’s hands, unwrapped it and gasped. It was a brand new tomahawk, topped with steel - one of the most popular items traded with  the Europeans.

“Mind you I didn’t get this for you to kill anyone with it.”

Matthieu frowned at him. These were not only used for killing.

“Yes I know,” Father Pierre replied sheepishly, reading Matthieu’s expression. “But a man finds it difficult to leave his prejudices behind. I doubt you would harm anyone unless you had good reason, you have a gentle soul. But I know that the moment you find yourself close to any sort of woodlands, you’ll wish to explore it, and when you do, you will have this with you to help. There are many types of forests out in the world, and not all of them will open themselves to you with just a little axe, but I feel better giving you something, however small or great it happens to be, I do not know. I hope it will be useful to you.”

Matthieu hugged the priest before he realized what he was doing, finally admitting to himself that yes, he would miss this place too, especially Father Pierre, who it appeared, had listened more than Matthieu had thought. “I’m scared.” He finally said.

Father Pierre patted him on the back. “That is natural. But you are a strong boy, and you will be a strong man. My only word of advice right now, is to keep your clothes and axe to yourself.”

Matthieu looked at him curiously.

“All I can say, is that before I joined the order, I was a merchant once too. Not all are to be trusted. Business is not about God, though many will try to convince you otherwise. Though Kirkland and the boy may be your family, it would be good to truly get to know them first. None-the-less, I shall pray for you Matthieu.” He reached under his tunic and pulled a chain with an small plain cross on it over his head. He put it around Matthieu’s neck. “Take this with you, also as a memento. I shall pray that you have a good and happy life. Should you ever return here to New France, you know where to find us.” Father Pierre smiled.

On the carriage ride to the port, Mr. Kirkland fell asleep and Alfred proved to Matthieu that he did know how to whisper and be soft after all. “We’re not really going to stop speaking to each other in your language right? It’s not fair that Arthur should know everything between us, we’re brothers.”

Matthieu felt a little happy at that and smiled. “My language? Wendat isn’t your language as well?”

“No, father taught it to me because he said that I had a brother north of the Great Sparkling Lake and this would help me find you.”

He felt a little warmth at that, that his father hadn’t forgotten him and that his brother looked for him. “Where are you from then? Where did Mr. Kirkland find you?”

Alfred looked guarded for a moment, before answering. “He found me in New Amsterdam, where father took me and raised me. Mother died birthing me, and he left her people…”

Matthieu narrowed his eyes in curiosity. “Your mother’s people?”

“The People of the Flint, they adopted father.”

He didn’t realize he had flinched away from his brother until he saw those eyes narrow (the same color as the Sparkling Lake, how was it even possible?). The People of the Flint were Haudenosaunee, the people that his own had warred and made peace with, and warred with again for years beyond count, who even knew the original reason why anymore. It was People of the Flint who had attacked his home.  

Alfred however, was having none of it. “Father mentioned something about our people being enemies. But I’m not your _enemy_. I’m your _brother_. None of it ought to matter now, because we’re getting a new start. We’re going to have adventures together, all of us! We don’t have to be lonely anymore, isn’t that great? Let’s focus on that instead.”

Matthieu couldn’t disagree with that. Alfred was right - a new beginning for both of them. He had avoided being taken in by another nation all this time, it appeared it was time to accept the inevitable. He scooted closer to his brother and they spent the rest of the carriage ride whispering stories to each other - the most Matthieu could ever remember speaking to anyone and the most accepted he had felt in his entire life.


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghost ship so ghostly that even Arthur is skeptical.

_London, Kingdom of England, 1650_

“Are there NO skilled sailors left in my employ?!”

Matthew, James and Jack stopped just two steps from the door to Arthur’s study. They looked at each other and shook their heads.

“Well, now we know why we were summoned.” James laughed cheerlessly and knocked on the door.

Matthew smiled at his cousin. James had been born in the midst of a shipwreck on Hollandia Nova, at least that’s what they said. That land had not even been fully explored yet, but stranger things had happened. Jack, also his cousin, smiled too. Arthur had found him even further out, being raised amongst the indigenies there, called Maori. Matthew had no idea what Arthur’s obsession was with finding these children scattered by his family and friends and raising them to be his own idea of an ‘Englishman’ (when Arthur himself was hardly an angel), but it was a quirk that had given him a family that could understand him in a way that many others could not. Their experience fighting together in the recent civil war had cemented that bond. James and Jack were actually Kirklands though, and they had the eyebrows to prove it. Their fathers were happily retired in Scotland and Ireland, after a lifetime of adventuring. Matthew meanwhile, had been adopted into the family with…

Well, they weren’t allowed to even mention Alfred anymore, at least not in front of Arthur. Funny how they forgot that Alfred was his brother, not Arthur’s, and yet they acted as if it was Arthur who was the most affected from Alfred’s departure, the only one betrayed.

“Enter!”

They did just that. Arthur’s study was a study of luxury without ostentation - dark woods from the far east, chocolates and foods from South America on display, hats and furs from Matthew’s own home and bottles of perfume made with ambergris.

“Lost another ship did we Sir?” James quipped.

“Not today James, I am in no mood for your jokes.” Arthur snapped. “DISMISSED!” He yelled at the man who had been standing in the room, a representative of the shipping company that Arthur had decided to use for the latest shipment. The man scampered out and the three younger men walked up to Arthur’s desk to look at the map.

“Five ships in two months.” Jack tapped on the map curiously, where the losses had been marked. “All between the Skeleton Coast and Cape Town.”

“The shippers keep telling me nonsense about a Ghost Ship.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You don’t believe them?” James asked curiously. Matthew thought that was odd as well, Arthur was the last to dismiss the supernatural.

Arthur leaned over his table with a sneer and jammed a finger at a point on the map marked in red. “Not when it happens so consistently and only to my ships, or ships with companies we have partnered with.”

“It’s really that obvious?” Matthew asked. “No other ships? There’s got to be hundreds making this journey at any given time.”

There was no way to cross to the East, except through the Cape. It was fairly ridiculous that it was only them, and why now?

“The others fit the statistics better. This…is obviously suspicious. A little too obviously. It’s almost as if someone is trying to get my attention.”

James looked at Arthur and the family portraits on the wall - at all those familiar eyebrows. “Is someone starting a trade war with us? Who would want to? When was the last time we had a trade war?”

Arthur looked at them grimly. “Before any of you came to live here. It was a right bloody stupid mess, a leftover legacy. Even my father couldn’t remember why it had started but he was determined to end it for good. As far as I know, he did.” Arthur shook his head. “If I were old enough, if my brothers were actually here and not going mad in unexplored corners of the world, we could have counseled a different way, but what’s done is done.”

“Maybe not quite as done as we think.” Matthew replied. “Who was grandfather fighting so hard against? And for what?”

It seemed to Matthew that Arthur’s lip curled a little at Matthew’s use of the title, but maybe he imagined it. “The Van der Meulens. Don’t bother looking it up, it’s one of the most common names down in the Dutch Republic. We were only at war with one particular branch of the family.”

James slapped a palm over his face. “Why on God’s Green Earth were we warring against a Dutch merchant family? Did we have some kind of a death wish?” Jack elbowed him, but Matthew had to agree. The Dutch Republic was the strongest trade nation on earth, the power of Dutch merchant families was immense, while the Kirklands were now wealthy but small. But that wealth had been a relatively recent development from their grandfather’s time.

“I said the reasons for the feud have been lost.” Arthur bit out. “It was generational, who even knows what the original insult was and knowing the Dutch, it wouldn’t have been that difficult for them to insult a Kirkland. Great-grandfather was particularly prickly. But my father ended it. There are no more relevant Van der Meulens to feud with us.”

Matthew’s horror must have been apparent because Arthur quickly softened his tone and added. “I said what’s done is done. There is no changing the past. But there is the present and the future. We must know who we have insulted…” Arthur looked like he had tasted something ugly. “Mayhaps Alfred-”

“It cannot be Alfred Sir.” Matthew dared to cut in. “Alfred doesn’t have the resources to leave the New England Colony on his own, and the Iroquois are still waging war over there. It would be a waste of those resources to hire privateers or pirates with the skill to sack ships so far away as Africa. If these ships were being lost near the new Colony or even New Netherland or New France, we could consider it, but no. Without Alfred, Van der Meulens is the next closest lead.”

Arthur looked away, flushed with anger. “My father had Van der Meulen killed, an accident. His wife took over the business-”

“His wife?!” James exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes his wife,” Arthur answered with exasperation. “Dutch laws treat women almost equal to men. They can own businesses, even have children out of wedlock and take the father to court over the baby. A strange business if you ask me. His wife took the business, and the war continued. Finally, it reached a point where she tried to move her family to the Indies. Far from us. My father was not in a mood to risk anything, pirates were paid to make sure that their ship never reached its destination - the wife, and three daughters, all were lost. But Nora Van der Meulen was just as vengeful. The men she hired before her departure made sure that my father met his demise. He did not even know that his own plot succeeded. When I found the papers and discovered all of this I was disgusted by it all.”

Whether he was disgusted by the bloodshed, or disgusted with the messiness of it, Matthew could not say, but he and his cousins exchanged another look.

“That was when you dismantled the business and rebuilt it with new people, and went out to find all of us.” Jack nodded in understanding. “Are you sure that one of those old employees isn’t resentful?”

“If so, why leave me in peace for ten years?”

Matthew tapped his fingers against the map. “Time needed to become a captain? To buy a ship? To become a pirate? Many things can happen in almost a decade. We were barely staying afloat just a few years ago with the civil war.”

Arthur pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I will not be driven back into this wasteful business of a trade war, I have better things to do. We have better things to do, such as dealing with Alfred looking to steal our American business.”

Matthew, James and Jack looked at each other with worry; the four were as brothers. The careful tip-toeing around Arthur and Alfred’s growing rift, and its aftermath was exhausting but necessary. The last thing anyone wanted, including Arthur and Alfred (even if they didn’t know it yet) was a family war.

“But Alfred is not a true threat yet. The American business was not even established, our Eastern trade is. Five lost ships in two months before they can even go ‘round the Cape of Good Hope is the main problem for now.” Matthew reasonably added, the fact that Arthur was not more panicked betrayed how concerned he was over the threat of Alfred. “How many survivors? There must be some if we keep receiving word.” He asked hopefully.

Arthur shook his head sadly. “Enough to bring news back, not enough for the numbers to be good.”

“Compensation to the families, lost goods, entire ships.” James sighed. “We cannot absorb this. Insurance?”

Arthur smiled sardonically. “I have received a letter, they will call on me this afternoon. I think we all know what they will say. As for the  families…word is already going around that we’re cursed, less men want to sail with us. Those who do are becoming more expensive. Sailors are the worst gossips and they love telling tall tales. But this time, different returning crew members report the same ‘Ghost Ship’.”

“How do we know it’s the same Ghost Ship?” Matthew asked. “What are its features?”

“Fast.” Arthur called out, walking over to the cabinet to grab a bottle of gin. The three looked at each other again. Rum was for celebration, gin was…medicinal for stress. “Appears in the midst of storms or becalmed days alike. Full sails even when no wind blows.” He swallowed angrily. “Glowing with a strange red light, disappears when chased, as if never there, and manned by the damned.”

That…made no sense. “And?” Matthew prodded.

“And what?” Arthur bit out.

“How do they attack our ships? Do they board? Do they fire? These are the kinds of things that ought to be remembered more than a ship that disappears from sight at sea. That’s common enough in mist and fog, and the sun plays tricks on everyone’s eyes after long weeks at sea.”

Arthur looked at Matthew and simply gave a cynical smile. He pulled out three glasses from the cabinet. “The first few ships simply wrecked themselves almost immediately after seeing the Ghost Ship. There is a deafening sound of thunder, even on a clear day, and the ship is lost. The last two I sent as a pair for security. Hah! The first ship simply disappeared from sight, with screams lingering in the air. The second ship, according to the few survivors, went the same as the first three. Don’t think too much on it unless you want a headache. Now drink with me, all of you, because I am about to assign you all the biggest mission of your lives up to this point, and I hate it. And sit down.”

When Arthur’s voice took on that particular ring of command, it was difficult to disobey, though he was the smallest man in the room. Arthur sat back in his seat and looked at each of them. “I want this business resolved. With nothing else to go on, we will pursue our first suspicion, that the source of these current woes has its origins in the old feud. Jack, I am sending you to Rotterdam, that was where the Van der Meulens were based. Find out everything that they left behind, who took what, who inherited what, the smallest whisper of a rumor. I will go with you to handle business affairs, and then I will be with our next ship to the Indies, and see her past the Cape. James and Matthew, you will stay and make sure that our stakeholders are happy.”

“What?! No!” Both Matthew and James exclaimed at the same time.

“What are you going to accomplish, if get yourself killed?!” James demanded. “You just said that this could be a plot against you. That it’s too obvious a ploy to gain your attention. It’s a big fat trap and you’ve decided to sail right into it?”

Arthur looked livid at the demand, and responded in icy tones. “If it is a ghost ship, I’m the best to see it and have it proven for myself. If it is not, I’m the one who must negotiate with whoever is targeting us. We have reserves we can safely tap into for me to hire soldiers and make this the best defended merchant ship on the sea. We’ve also missed too many of our last deliveries, this next ship has to make it, or we begin losing our partners in the East. We cannot afford that with Alfred tying up the new world.”

“Sir, let me go.” Matthew responded instead. “You’re needed here, your stakeholders will panic beyond belief if they know that you are on that ship. If even a rumor, or a hint breaks out that anything has happened to you, we will flounder. If anything happens to me, well…you have two more nephews.”

“Matthew!” James punched his shoulder. “If anyone is rushing to be a sitting duck in the middle of the ocean it should be me. I’ve been far east, Matthew hasn’t. I’ll be better off speaking to our partners there, Sir, you know how much they value established relationships.”

“James, you can’t.” Matthew sighed. With Alfred splintered off with his own rival company, James was the one who had mostly taken his place as the visible and talkative Kirkland, the ones that investors would view as an heir. He didn’t mention that Arthur was low on trust these days. If Alfred could disappear and proclaim independence on a business trip to New England, what would stop Arthur from suspecting that James was doing the same in the East? Their family was splintered enough as is. “This is a mystery more than a business trip. We need to find out what’s actually happening here, and well, I’m better at being invisible than you. If anything happens to me, Arthur will need you to help plan what comes next. Whatever happens though, please…no trade war. Nothing good has ever come out of vengeance, how many generations has this war taken? And the lives of three innocent girls and all those innocent men in our employ as well.”

Gin made Arthur look at Matthew fondly. “There is no such thing as an innocent man Matthew, especially not a sailor. But otherwise, you’re right.”

“Sir, you can’t.” James objected again, this time with less bite, knowing he was losing.

“I can and I will.” Arthur shot back, displeased at his unruly apprentices. “Matthew, the Carcosa and Shelby leave in three days’ time. You will make a stop in Rotterdam first to drop off Jack and deliver our shipments. Learn all that you can, where Jack cannot go. Then…Godspeed. If you clear the Cape without incident, negotiate with our partners in the East, then find out more. The Van der Meulen ship was reportedly wrecked near the Spice Islands. Then make it back in one piece. If either on the way there or on the return journey you meet this mysterious ship…” What else was there to say? “Be careful, I need you as much as James and Jack. If there is an all too human captain, as I’m guessing, find out what he wants. Get his price. If it is a ghost ship…”

After a pregnant pause, James finished for him. “Come back and tell us about it!”

The laughter died down pretty quickly after they realized that Arthur had not joined them. “James, Jack, I’d like to speak to Matthew.”

His cousins gave him sympathetic looks as they left Arthur’s office, while Arthur poured him more gin. The sound of liquid hitting the glass filled the silence in the room, and Matthew found once again, his shoulders hunching as he tried to make himself invisible - something fairly silly as he was the only person in the room.

“I hope you’re not going to hunch like that when you speak to our Eastern partners.” Arthur began amiably. Well, as amiably as he could, considering his mood.

Matthew sighed. “I’m not going to betray you Sir, I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” Because that was what this was about, this was why Arthur had kept Matthew close to him after Alfred left, unable to travel, especially not near New France or the New England Colonies, where he could join up with his brother.

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. “So that’s what you’ve told yourself about being kept here…”

“Why else?”

Arthur raised one thick eyebrow and shook his head. “Do you honestly need me to tell you what’s happening now over there?”

Matthew felt the familiar anger well up again. He knew. Beaver Wars,whatever was the latest excuse for the never-ending conflict between his and Alfred’s people. If he had thought that he had lost his home when he was a child, it was nothing compared to now, knowing that the Wendat were almost ash in the wind. Just a year before, the Haudenosaunee had used their Dutch-bought guns to burn the last remaining Wendat villages. In Matthew’s eyes, there had been no need, the Wendat were already defeated - a hard century of disease and constant war took care of that. “There is a sense of irony to that. I may be one of the last remaining trickles of the Wendat in the world, and even that…” Matthew fought tears. “It has been a long time since I’ve been Wendat.”

“I know you and Alfred continued speaking your language to each other in secret. Did you know what he planned?”

“Of course not! And he knew better than to tell me, I would have talked him out of it.” As Matthew had always done. “I don’t even know where he’s drawing all this money from.”

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. “Why didn’t you join him? I know he must have asked.”

“…” Matthew finished his glass of gin in one gulp. “Weapons.”

Arthur nodded, unsurprised. “He’s selling weapons to the Indians. That is one sure way to make a profit during a war.”

“He said we could turn the tide for the Wendat and their allies, he had never known his mother’s people and did not feel any particular sense of loyalty either way, but he had grown up as my brother. When that did not work, he said that we were sons of the Wendat and Mohawk, and French, raised English, and taught Dutch - we could broker peace between them instead and monopolize trade as a result of that relationship. Then when that didn’t work he…he’s dreaming mad dreams. I couldn’t go with him, but I couldn’t stop him either.”

“You know what he’s actually done of course.”

“Sided entirely with the Iroquois after all. The contacts he stole were British and Dutch, a legacy of your father’s business partners, I assume the latter came as a result of Van der Meulen’s death. Yes, I know what he’s done.” Matthew wondered if that had always been Alfred’s intention, or if his brother’s anger at Matthew’s perceived betrayal. “I wonder sometimes if it is my fault that I didn’t go with him and temper his madness.”

Arthur shook his head. “It is not your responsibility to fix your brother’s whims or mistakes.”

‘No,’ Matthew thought to himself. ‘Just yours.’

“Or mine.”

Oh.

“Matthew…” Arthur leaned forward on his desk and looked him in the eyes. “The only reason why I’ve acquiesed to your plan to take my place is because I know I’ve overprotected all of you. I never expected to inherit this business, I was the youngest after all. I was at least able to sail with the Navy and see the world before I took over. Short of the occasional business trips, I have not extended true hardship to any of you. I’m the one who should have seen Alfred chafing at the lack of opportunity. If it is any consolation, I don’t believe he thought he was lying to you when he made you those offers. He did not know any better then, and now is simply discovering the realies of business given his circumstances and is trying to stay afloat.”

“You sailed to the opposite corners of the world to adopt four boys - sons of men you have often, and very loudly, proclaimed your disgust of. You ended this family’s involvement in the slave trade because you couldn’t stomach it. For Alfred and I, you stopped our sales of weapons to the New World. There is always a choice.”

Arthur laughed, a harsh and terrible sound, nothing at all like the laughter Matthew was used to. “Did I end the slave trade? No. I may not traffic human lives, or peddle good Swedish steel manacles, but I still buy and peddle sugar and cotton Matthew. Our most profitable products are spices and tea. Who do you think works the fields?”

Matthew swallowed but did not respond.

“I was young, when I decided to end the sales of muskets to the New World. Do you know what happened after that? Major losses to our fur supply. I had to kill most of the new routes by father had fought so hard for, that people had died for. You see Matthew, whether you remember it or not, your native culture sees alliance not just in terms of trade, but in politics as well. Muskets were not sold simply as products alone, they were part of the promise in our relationship, that our suppliers’ enemies were also ours. When I foolishly ended the sales, our business partners assumed that I ended the partnership unilaterally. Which offended all kinds of people, as I am sure you can guess. That’s when I looked East.”

Something did not sound right. “But you re-established sales in the New World. You were planning on going back into the weapons game, weren’t you?”

Arthur simply gave Matthew a condescending look. “I intended to re-establish New World trade to previous levels after you and Alfred came of age, slowly. No muskets, I wouldn’t do that to you, but we would still sell the finest tools which…frankly, could be used as weapons anyway, but that would be their business. Tobacco, foodstuffs, knowledge. I envisioned opening schools to teach them how best to handle the influx of foreigners, to negotiate and maintain their nations, surely such a commitment would provide me a monopoly on the market potentionial over there. We haven’t even explored a fifth of that land, I know there’s more there. I also know that fashions come and go, we won’t be wearing beaver fur hats forever. I thought I could expand the market from fur to medicine - your people were healthy before they met us. There are plants and herbs that grow there, that only your people know how to use, we repackage and create a new product that everyone believes they cannot live well without. So many dreams Matthew. So much stupidity. Circumstances allowed me to send Alfred back first, you, I intended to secure a position for at the Hudson Bay Company, where you would also inform me of any newly discovered frontiers. But that opportunity, only fleetingly available in a time of rare peace, passed, and Alfred with it. Now all those plans must change, which is why I need the Eastern route preserved.”

There had been a reason that he stayed with Arthur. He never really understood it, just a sense that leaving would have been a disaster. Arthur was a secretive man, save when he drank, then all manner of darkness and light, usually hidden in this mind, would be revealed. The darkness was truly dark - Arthur was not forgiving to certain enemies, but the lighter thoughts…

“We won’t lose it Sir.”

Arthur nodded. “There is another thing.”

“There is always another thing.” Matthew smiled.

But Arthur did not return it. “War is coming.”

Matthew felt an incredible fatigue hearing that and rolled his eyes. “War is always coming.”

“With the Dutch.”

Matthew felt a weary sinking feeling. “How can you be sure?”

Arthur laughed. “Well we beheaded King Charles, that will eventually be an excuse, but frankly Mathew, I know war is coming because I’ve fought in too many and I know what jealousy feels like. England needs trade to survive and the Dutch own everything and earn too much… and it’s not enough for them. They’ve taken the Southern trade routes of the Americas from Portugal, they’ve taken the waters around Iberia now that they’re no longer at war with Spain, they have the East, a monopoly on trade with Japan, they dominate the slave trade out of Africa and have a settler colony at the most important southern port in the world. Something has to break Matthew, if this country is going to have anything.”

Matthew needed more gin. “Sir…it was already mad of your father to go to war against a Dutch merchant family. This soon after a civil war it would be beyond madness for England to take on the entirety of the Dutch Republic.”

But here Arthur smiled, because despite everything else Arthur tried to be, his pride and love for his country stood absolute. “Except that my father won, Matthew. Make no mistake, business in war time is different. And we must prepare ourselves.”

Matthew looked at the map of the world on Arthur’s desk. It was mad in that moment to think what these little marks on the map actually meant. Blue pins in New Netherland also meant thousands of people dead over a monopoly on beaver fur. Red pins in Brazil on sugar plantations told of suffering peoples whipped, tortured and forever enslaved…yet without these pins the world could not be. For the first time in a long time, Matthew thought of Father Pierre and his warning about the world. Hopefully, once the situation with Alfred calmed, he would be able to return to visit Sainte-Marine among the Huron.

 

* * *

 

_Rotterdam, Dutch Republic - 1650_

While Jack went off to delve deep into the Van der Meulens (their specific Van der Meulens, Arthur had not been joking when he mentioned how common the name was), Matthew spent a few days completing the sales and going to the places where gossip was ripe - the market, gambling dens and brothels. Each night, he would clean up and join Jack at the merchant’s clubs to obtain even more information. Arthur had ensured that the boys were educated in Dutch as well as English, as was suitable for a merchant company of their size. It was like running a small nation, complete with the need for information. Matthew’s quiet nature had worked to Arthur’s gain many times - he was a man whom people enjoyed speaking to, because he hardly interrupted them. He was also a man that people tended to forget, especially when they were distracted counting money and selling wares, drunk and losing money, or more concerned with falling into the feigned passion of the body.

At the market he bought personal supplies for the journey ahead and items known to help one make friends anywhere in the world - tobacco (some he purchased for himself), tea, healing supplies and beautifully crafted weapons. Since he was going East, he bought a machete, just in case. There the people gossiped about early monsoons and the price of spice and foodstuffs increasing as a result, including the added fears of sailing near the Cape.

At the gambling den, drunk sailors spoke of the ghostly ship with full sails even on becalmed waters, bringing storms with it and taking the lives of good sailors.

“…I pity those lads who have taken Kirkland’s money to sail past the Cape. That man has angered the ghosts and the sea. That whole bloody business from the past is catching up to them, about time too.”

“…Van der Meulen…the Kirklands made off well stealing all those routes after killing the girls. They’re still rich now, but watch them lose it all. Old Kirkland’s youngest anusridder son went sailing around the world collecting his brothers’ half-savage bastards to make them his own demon heirs. Now they’re tearing themselves apart, I’m willing to bet extra coins he fucked the one stealing his customers and fleet in the New World. Maybe he’s fucked them all. Let the Devil take them, there will be nothing left of them and finally some justice in this world.”

At the brothel, he paid a girl to massage the knots from his shoulders as he heard another man boast that he knew the identity of the Captain of the ghost ship haunting the southern waters. Thankfully Matthew didn’t need to prod the man, because another’s cackling disbelief drove the man to defend his pride.

“I DO KNOW! His name…”

A hush went over the room in anticipation.

“Is Van der Decken!”

Matthew joined in the roaring laughter on the joke. Still, with the way the Dutch named things, he wouldn’t be surprised if Van der Decken was actually a family name in these parts. Wouldn’t it be great to name a boy ‘Captain’ so that he could be called the ‘Captain of the Deck’ for the rest of his life? Still, he had had enough of sailors for today, he would be enjoying the company of no one else for months soon. Besides, brothels depressed him. He paid the girl and left, throwing in extra so that she would be spared more customers for the night. His shoulders were feeling much better anyway.

Dressed to fit in at the merchant’s club, Matthew walked up to it on the third day and saw Jack. The poor boy had yanked out half his eyebrows and overcombed his unruly hair to make his identity as a Kirkland less obvious. Now he was standing outside the club giving a bouquet of lavender tulips to a pretty blonde girl in a blue and white striped dress. It seemed that they were saying their goodbyes because she turned and ran off with a little blush and a smile. He never got a good look at her in the failing light.

Matthew walked up to Jack with an expectant smile on his face.

“Oh don’t say anything to Arthur please! I met her at the bookstore.”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s none of my business, and we’re apprentices, not monks. I was just surprised. It’s easy to forget that women here can go where they like unaccompanied. It must be nice to live in a place so safe. She seems sweet, what is her name?”

“Liesbeth,” Jack responded with stars in his eyes. “But she’s from further south, the Low Countries.”

“What does her family trade?” Matthew asked out of genuine curiosity as they walked into the club.

“They’re bankers, but honestly Matthew as I said, I just met her today and I don’t know what will happen. Please…”

“Of course I will keep it to myself.” Matthew smiled, before putting an arm around his cousin. “Look at you, all grown up.” Jack was the youngest of them, he supposed they did treat him like a child. “It’s an interesting place down here. I’m always amazed that Arthur doesn’t like them, they have everything he loves, a large book trade, a well-read populace capable of good conversation, steady access to tea, the trade partners, everything he would want.”

“Slaves.” Jack reminded. “It’s lovely here, and the poorest Dutch man is better off than some of the less poor I’ve seen in London but…you know Arthur.”

Remembering Arthur’s words about sugar and cotton, Matthew decided to keep his silence.

“It’s also not London, plain and simple, and Arthur is proud. Well, that’s enough of that, find anything interesting today?” Jack asked.

“About business? Arthur tells better stories.” Matthew shrugged. “The important bit of news is that the weather is queer this year. The monsoon is coming early, the weather at the Cape more difficult than usual. Prices will rise, merchants will stay in foreign ports to wait out the rains and the East will be less accessible these coming months. If that’s the case…you must tell Arthur that we need to resolve this mess with Alfred, if the East is going to be difficult, we need the other markets open. We do not trade slaves, we’re shut out of New England, New Netherlands and New France thanks to Alfred, and now some mysterious party is seeking to close us off from the East. This is nothing short of a disaster.” He did not add the impending war with the Dutch. The situation was looking beyond a disaster into the impossible. “We need to speak to Alfred or there may be nothing left. Speaking of which…we really need to work on our public image. It’s probably coming back to the fore because of this ghost ship business, but people really hate us here.”

Jack nodded. “Ah, so you heard about us coming from a family of half-demonic sodomizers too. Rotterdam still remembers the Van der Meulens, even though it wasn’t Arthur who took care of that. And I…” He leaned closer to whisper. “There’s rising anti-English sentiment that feels rather sudden. I don’t like the feel of it.”

Matthew nodded. “I was wondering if it was a one-time ordeal, or just this city, but I’m glad you feel it too so that I have some confirmation.”

“I’ll send Arthur a coded message. There’s trade in the Mediterranean and with those former vikings, but those markets are small. This mess with Alfred…”

Something the drunk sailor had said did stay with Matthew though, causing him disquiet. “This war with Alfred.” He corrected his cousin.

Jack looked at Matthew with sad eyes.

“Jack…it’s about time we’ve stopped denying the obvious. We’re in a trade war with Alfred and we have been in one for a year now. We’ve been in denial, and maybe in London we can perpetuate that lie but out here, even the drunkest sailor has enough experience to know better.”

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head. “Right bloody mess.” He swore. “We need to resolve this problem in the Cape. At least Arthur still has it in mind to be a businessman about that. When it comes to Alfred, he can’t think.”

“I’ll finish this business in the Cape as soon as possible. We’ve worked hard on this, all of us.” Before Matthew and Jack had departed, the four of them had spent hours on the strategy together. “If the news of the early monsoon is true, I’ll need to leave sooner rather than later. I’m off in the morning Jack. You’ll be alright staying here?”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “I can handle this city. You’re the one sailing directly into a trap.”

“It’s only a trap if you let it spring.”

Later as Matthew packed, Jack stood pensively to the side, quiet, waiting to burst. Matthew and Jack understood each other in the way that two quieter siblings appreciate the camaraderie when they’re dealing with two louder ones.

“Take this with you.” Jack pulled his necklace off his head, the _pounamu_ stone carved into a whorled circle that he had always worn. “It’ll protect you.”

Matthew froze, fighting a deeper emotion within.

“No Jack, it’s yours you keep it. It means too much to you.” They all had something, except Alfred, because their father Francis had not left him anything, and because Alfred had been with Arthur the longest. But James had a boomerang that had been carved for him by…someone. Jack had his green pounamu stone that had been carved for him by someone. Matthew had the beaver clothes and his crucifix. They never told each other the intimate details of their pasts, but accepted their needs to keep certain things purely their own. He loved Arthur just as the rest of them did, but some things, Arthur could not erase. “I have my own protection. I’ll be fine.”

Jack didn’t look convinced. “I just don’t like it, we’ve always done things together, or at least in pairs. Now we’re splitting up.”

“It’s the natural progression of things I expect.” Matthew shrugged. “In everything. Perhaps you will fall in love with Liesbeth and marry her. That is something you will definitely prefer to do alone.”

Jack punched his arm and Matthew laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> While there were a lot of awesome happenings during this period, which I allude to in the text, such as the Dutch Republic opening its borders for talented (usually persecuted) persons regardless of religion, gave us the closest thing we see in equal rights for women in Western Europe during this time, high literacy rates and government social support, banking, etc, it’s not surprising that where there was so much ‘gold’ there was darkness to match. This period was also a ‘golden age’ for the Slave Trade and the Spice Trade. 
> 
> It’s also not surprising that such a happening time for global trade coincides with the first Golden Age of Piracy (c.1650s–1700s for the first half, then it starts up again by 1712). This time comes just before tales of the Flying Dutchman and Davy Jones (popular and widespread for us today) really took off, which is why all this talk of a ghost ship near Cape Town doesn’t immediately make people think of ‘The Flying Dutchman’ (whose Captain according to legend, is Hendrik Van der Decken…*UPDATE, I just found out that in the Netherlands, the Captain’s name is Willem Van der Decken).
> 
> For the territories that are now a part of modern-day Canada and US, this period coincides with the booming beaver fur trade, and a civil war (one of many) between what we now mostly call the Huron and the Iroquois. Matthew and Alfred don’t use these terms because Huron apparently, was french for ‘ruffian’ and Iroquois was actually a name given to them by their enemies that means ‘black snake’ or something along those lines. From what I’ve managed to gather, in the 17th century, the appropriate names would be the Wendat and Haudenosaunee, but if I have made any mistakes, it is all on me. Please correct me. The Wendat were mostly settled on the north of Lake Ontario, while the Haudenosaunee mostly on the south. They warred on and off for many years before the Haudenosaunee utterly defeated (mostly killed off) the Wendat in 1649.
> 
> I am not a historian, but I’ve tried my best to keep the technology used in this fic accurate/available from that time period. I’m sure some that so many things are inaccurate despite my best efforts (and frankly, I don’t know how long it took, for example, to sail on a 17th-century merchant ship, laden with cargo, from Rotterdam down to Cape Town, or even how much longer it took to continue that journey to Indonesia after that, so I’ve made what I hope are reasonable guesses).
> 
> There's a lot more written than these two chapters on my tumblr. I'm not happy with them, but if you're curious as to see what the current continuation of this story looks like, [click here](http://nedcanquen.tumblr.com/post/145366914562/nedcan-three-parter-you-earn-too-much).


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